CHAPTER TEN
‘I think you have been reasonably efficient, Colonel von Franke.’
‘Thank you, Herr General.’ Von Franke clicked his heels and gave a small bow. ‘One does one’s best for the Fatherland... and the Party.’
‘Of course.’ The General, who had halted outside the vast building in which the experimental work was carried on, paced ahead followed by the Colonel. ‘What you and your men have been doing here will shorten the war according to the Führer. He places great hopes in the pilotless aircraft. All the south of England at least will be at our mercy. You are to be congratulated.’
‘Thank you, Herr General.’
‘And last night...’ Once more the General halted and gazed out across the still waters of Vest Hammarfjord. ‘There has been damage, yes, but nothing that is important. Until the accommodation is restored your men must simply live in the open, that is all—it is no hardship when compared to the trenches of the last war.’ The General’s hand strayed to the many rows of medal ribbons upon his ample chest, some of which bore testimony to his own part in that conflict. ‘And it will not be for long. The base has much priority.’
‘That is most gratifying, Herr—’ The Colonel broke off and looked skywards. ‘Aircraft, Herr General. Reichsmarschall Goering gives us most excellent protection.’
‘Yet his Luftwaffe was not in the vicinity last night,’ the General said sourly. Not that I criticize. Even our Luftwaffe cannot be everywhere at once, but last night would have been better than this morning, one would have thought.’
‘The ship in the bay, Herr General? The target, perhaps?’
‘No. I have told you, it is the Führer’s wish that the ship is left to our naval units. He is adamant.’
‘Because of the vision.’
‘Because of the vision, yes. It must always be followed to the letter.’ The General looked at his watch. ‘Perhaps it is early, but...’
‘Yes, Herr General?’ Colonel von Franke asked. Then, as the General said nothing further but looked irritated, he ticked over. ‘Schnappes, Herr General? But of course, it will be a pleasure and an honour.’
The two officers proceeded to the base mess.
***
The aircraft passed over the channel, flying high. It would, in fact, have been next to impossible for any aircrew to spot the ship except as a matter of the sheerest chance. But Forbes’ worry now was that the absence of the Castle Bay from the outer fjord would be noted and reported. It could, perhaps, be assumed that she had gone to sea, presumably unaware that the German heavy ships were closing the area; but such an assumption wouldn’t last longer than it took the aircraft, and others that might be sent in, to carry out a reconnaissance of the seas in the vicinity. Meanwhile, the Castle Bay was fast aground for’ard. The shipwright, sounding round again, found no damage but the engine, moving astern, was having no effect whatsoever other than to churn up sand and set the murky water boiling beneath her counter. Forbes said, ‘We can try to shake her free, Pilot. D’you know the pipe they used to use in the Navy to bring off grounded ships?’
Beddows shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
‘Hands to dance and skylark,’ Forbes said briefly. ‘Boatswain’s mate?’
The rating came forward and saluted. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Hands to dance and skylark on the poop and after well-deck.’
‘Beg pardon, sir?’ The seaman looked astonished.
‘You heard, and I’ve not gone round the bend, Peters. Pipe the order at once.’
The calls shrilled out: there was a certain amount of surprise and ribald comment. The skipper had a screw loose, they’d better all watch out. The strain had affected him. Most of the ship’s company being hostilities-only ratings, they had no conception of the meaning of the order, but the older men, the Fleet Reservists, recognized something that they hadn’t heard for many years or had only learned about from the previous generation of seamen. One who knew was the Chief Boatswain’s Mate, another was the Gunner’s Mate, and another was Mr Hanrahan. These three seasoned sailors chivvied the hands aft with peremptory shouts and in the after well-deck the Chief Boatswain’s Mate told them the score.
‘Do as the pipe says, but don’t bloody dance like ponces in a dance hall, right? Jump up and down, plenty of vigour. Shake the ship so she vibrates and starts to lift for’ard.’ The Chief Boatswain’s Mate turned in some despair to Mr Hanrahan as the men tentatively hopped in the air and came down again, obviously feeling remarkably foolish. The Buffer said, ‘No spirit, sir, eh? No beef either, as skinny a lot of matloes I never did see. Remember when they was all like rum tubs?’
‘Speak for yourself, Buffer,’ Mr Hanrahan said; he was sensitive about his own figure. Then he lifted his voice aft: ‘Come on, put some guts into it! Jump, don’t bloody ‘op! I’ll come among you with a stonachie if you don’t watch it,’ he said in reference to the rope’s-end carried by PTIS to lash out at lazy backsides during physical drill. ‘This isn’t a game, it’s serious. If the ship doesn’t come off, the Huns’ll get the lot of us.’
With persuasion, they began to set up a vibration. Looking aft from the bridge, Forbes remembered the commando sergeant-major who had wanted to carry out PT. He would be in his element now, thoroughly vindicated, but he wouldn’t ever raise his voice again now. He was just one reason amongst the many why Forbes was determined to get through to the fjord and blast that base to pulp. His nails dug hard into his palms; the feeling of helplessness was enough to drive a man insane. Perhaps he was going over the brink: he was probably condemning his whole ship’s company to death by entering Vest Hammarfjord. The fact that he was exceeding his orders, even acting in total disregard of them, didn’t help.
He turned for’ard.
Bloody ship! She wasn’t shifting an inch by the look of it, though there was plenty of vibration now. He gave a hail to the Norwegian still in the eyes of the ship. ‘Any movement?’
‘None, Captain. None. She is fast.’
Forbes smote a clenched fist on the polished teak of the bridge guardrail. His blood pressure, he felt, was rising fast. It couldn’t be long before that aircraft sent in its reports and then it would be too late, time would have run out for, them and Hitler would continue to enjoy his wretched secret weapon. With almost his whole ship’s company aft, the ship should have started to come up by the head, surely... there was one more thing that could be tried and Forbes decided to try it. He sent the bridge messenger for all heads of departments to muster immediately on the bridge, except for the Chief Engineer, the Lieutenant-Commander (E) whose presence was required on the starting-platform below: his deputy, the Senior Engineer, would attend in his place.
When the various officers were present, Forbes said, ‘I want all inessential stores jettisoned over the side. Everything—except yours, of course, Mr Hanrahan. Don’t get sentimental or over-cautious. We have to come off the bottom. If we don’t, then we’ve had it anyway. Understood? Right! Start at once, no delay.’ He added, ‘Make a start on the wardroom stores. If necessary it may come to personal possessions—every bloody centimetre’s going to count now!’
***
The winking signal lamps flashed from the Admiral’s bridge aboard the Scharnhorst, conveying the orders of the Commander-in-Chief, West, to the Hipper. The speed came off as the ships made a turn to starboard, heading into inshore waters for the outer fjord with their companies at stations and the decks cleared for action. A signal had been received, it was true, from an aircraft of the Luftwaffe, indicating that the British ship appeared to have left; but, as the Admiral remarked, the Castle Bay could merely have shifted berth and entered some side inlet where she hoped to remain hidden. The British were so devious; and the Admiral had raised no sign of the vessel at sea. Hence the precaution of being ready for action. The Admiral, immaculately dressed with starched cuffs and collar, said, ‘The ship is almost defenceless and will go pouf !’ He flung his arms wide, simulating the explosion to come. ‘Nevert
heless we must expect knavish tricks—anything is possible, Flag Captain.’ He strutted the bridge, nose lifted, sniffing the good, keen air of Norway. The dirty weather had gone, it was a splendid morning, and there was no British squadron in the immediate vicinity according to the reports broadcast from Berlin. The British Rear-Admiral Vian had been supposed to be around but he had gone, and had been reported by the Luftwaffe as having joined the PQ convoy which was coming under heavy attack. With luck, Rear-Admiral Vian would have his wretched cruiser sunk under him, and would then freeze to death in the icy seas north of Archangel, which was a hell-hole at the best of times and thankfully not required to have convoys run to it by the German Navy.
The Admiral pondered, as his ships headed inwards for more glory, on the incredible wisdom of his Führer in mounting Operation Barbarossa to attack the devilish Stalin and his horrible country. Russia was the abode of fiends but would shortly crack asunder under the hammer-blows of the Third Reich as the magnificent armies thrust with their armoured columns towards Stalingrad and Moscow. The end of the war was in sight and the victorious and gallant sailors, soldiers and airmen of the Fatherland would march with bands playing along the Unter den Linden, while the rest of the world cringed around them and metaphorically licked their boots. There was always America, of course, who had not entered the war as the stupid British had hoped and, indeed, expected. America might not be amenable; the Americans did not like the Fatherland over-much, it was true, but... the Admiral shrugged off the Americans. If they were difficult, a division or two, plus a fleet, could always be despatched—that should be enough. If not, the gallant Japanese, yellow though they might be, were friendly towards the Führer and could surely be relied upon to lambast the American west coast in support of the attack from the Atlantic.
All was well, all was very well indeed.
Scharnhorst, in the lead with her great turrets manned, probed through into the outer fjord, followed by the Hipper.
There was nothing to be seen: the area around Svalbard Point stood empty, totally deserted.
It was no matter; the Admiral shrugged again and ordered his ships to steam right in and then turn to port to explore the northern reaches of the land-locked water. He looked around; the scenery was splendid, and now virtually German. The Norwegians didn’t count for much, though pockets of resistance existed. Splendid German mountains, tall and vast and topped with snow from heaven, a benison from the Almighty to show his love for Adolf Hitler...
‘No ship, Herr Admiral.’
‘Thank you, Flag Captain, this I have seen for myself. There is more water ahead, and this will be explored.’
‘Yes, Herr Admiral.’
Scharnhorst and Hipper moved on. The Admiral looked up again at the mountains, craning his neck until the starch of his collar bit uncomfortably into the back of it. So immensely high... the Admiral found he didn’t like them so much after all; they tended to make his squadron appear insignificant. There was a curious psychological effect in being made to look small.
And there certainly was no ship. There was no doubt about that after the Admiral had cruised up and down for the best part of an hour.
Now here was a quandary: the Admiral was under orders to attack a ship that was not there. What next? Should he return to the open sea and look for the verdamnt vessel, and risk exposure to some unreported enemy ships—such as the British Home Fleet, which could be at sea, with the King George V, the Prince of Wales and the Rodney, or so the Admiral suspected, plus a number of cruisers—possibly some aircraft-carriers also?
There was a risk. His ships were of much value to the Fatherland.
The Admiral paced his bridge, thinking hard.
Always, one had to take into account the possible and totally unpredictable reactions of the Führer when making one’s decisions. The Führer was a hot-tempered leader and flew into spasms of hair-tearing rage that could rebound with disadvantage upon a senior officer’s career. So—go out, or not go out? The Castle Bay might yet appear... but no, she wouldn’t. Not while his ships were there. The Admiral, after a close study of the chart, projected his mind towards the channel inwards of Svalbard Point. True, there was enough water there to take a ship of the Castle Bay’s draught, but only a lunatic would attempt to take a 6,000-ton converted freighter into such confined waters. It would be suicide.
The Admiral pulled at his neat, dark beard. The Flag Captain asked, ‘What should we do, Herr Admiral?’
The Admiral, who disliked being questioned before he had made up his mind, snapped, ‘Hold your tongue, Flag Captain.’
***
The channel was now littered with all manner of jettisoned stores and equipment that could be considered non-vital to the ship’s safety and general ability to steam and fight: all the wardroom wine store had been emptied out and cases of whisky and gin supplied by Saccone and Speed lay forlornly smashed on the rocks or sunk to the bottom. They had been joined by a mass of horded material from the engine-room stores—metal, pieces of machinery that had been aboard for years—and drums of grey paint from the paint store, coils of heavy rope, spare pieces of deck gear—blocks and tackles, shackles of all kinds, even some spare links of cable that some peacetime boatswain had stowed away for no apparent reason that anyone could think of. Items of furniture went too: wash-hand basin cabinets from the officers’ cabins, wardrobes, chairs, carpets. Nothing was too small to count. Even a good deal of food was cast overboard.
Finally, and in desperation, Forbes ordered the jettisoning of all but a small quantity of the contents of the fresh water tanks.
That did it.
As the water level fell in the tanks, there was a shout from the Norwegian on the fo’c’sle-head: ‘She moves, Captain, she moves!’
Forbes, foot-sensitive now to the tenth degree, had felt the small shift for himself : the old ship had given a sort of waggle, like a duck’s tail only ahead rather than astern, as though in celebration of her freedom.
Licking at dry lips, Forbes ordered the engine astern dead slow. He held his breath, as did everyone else. Cloudy water swept for’ard as the screw churned, and, infinitesimally, the Castle Bay moved. Forbes wiped his brow and blew out his breath. He caught Beddows’ eye and said, ‘God’s changed his mind. He loves us after all. I think I’ve said the same thing before.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Forbes cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted ahead to Cameron, waiting in the seaboat with his sounding-party, ‘I’m taking her through now, Sub. No more balls-ups unless you want to be keel-hauled.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Cameron felt himself flushing but he accepted the rebuke. In point of fact, the Captain had been remarkably forbearing in not having issued a monster of a rocket long before this. Cameron took his boat ahead as the Castle Bay, with her screw moving at dead slow ahead now, nudged forward and brought her stem back over the patch where she had grounded. She went ahead smoothly and stood clear. Cameron called back, ‘All’s well, sir!’
‘Thank you!’ Forbes waved a hand, then spoke to Beddows. ‘Two miles to go—a little under. Warn all guns’ crews to stand by as we come into view in the fjord. I expect to be in action pretty quick.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Stand by the seaboat’s falls, Pilot.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Beddows, calling for the boatswain’s mate, left the bridge. The ship was almost at the end of the entry channel now, in wider waters. Forbes felt a thrill of expectation run through him as Vest Hammarfjord was seen ahead, still and open.
He called ahead, ‘Sub!’
‘Sir?’
‘Bring your boat alongside for hoisting.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Cameron gave the order to lay on oars and the boat drifted, standing off for the Castle Bay to come up. As the seaboat came below the outswung davits, the bowman and sternsheetsman hooked on to the falls and up top Beddows gave the order to hoist. Stepping on to the embarkation deck, Cameron went to the bridge to report to the Cap
tain. As he reached it, Forbes flicked on the tannoy to speak to his ship’s company: the Castle Bay was coming out now from the narrows, emerging into full view and standing into deep water. Forbes said, ‘This is the Captain speaking. I intend to steam north past the base. All port-side guns will train and open together when ordered. When I’m past, I shall turn and go in again, and all starboard guns will fire. I intend to repeat the manoeuvre as often as may be necessary to destroy the whole set-up. That is all
He switched off. ‘Yeoman?’
‘Yessir?’
‘Hoist battle ensigns.’
‘Aye, aye, sir!’
Forbes moved to the voice-pipe. ‘Port ten,’ he said.
‘Port ten, sir.’ There was a pause. ‘Ten of port wheel on, sir.’
‘Midships... steady! Steer three-six-oh.’
‘Steer three-six-oh, sir.’
‘Engine full ahead.’
‘Engine full ahead sir.’ Bells rang and the quartermaster reported, ‘Engine repeated full ahead, sir.’
Forbes straightened and caught Cameron’s eye. ‘Well, Sub?’
‘Seaboat hoisted, sir.’
‘Right, thank you. You did well, Cameron, and I’m grateful.’
‘I’m sorry about the grounding, sir.’
‘That could happen to any of us. Charts sometimes aren’t a hundred per cent, and soundings can be a case of hit or miss in channels like that one.’ Forbes lifted his binoculars as the ship went ahead, coming up to her maximum speed and raising a breeze over her decks. ‘The Jerries are reacting now. I’ve no doubt there’s a good deal of surprise around at this moment!’
Cameron took a look at the base himself. There was much activity, and the shouting of orders could be heard thinly as the ship came closer in. Not unnaturally, the buildings were being battened-down against coming action, all doors being shut. But at the southern perimeter a gun-barrel was swinging round in the concrete pill-box; and as it found its target, it opened. There was a bright flash and a cloud of black smoke poured from the pill-box. A shell whistled down the Castle Bay’s port side. Mr Hanrahan’s guns’ crews had the edge on the Germans: as Forbes passed orders to gunnery control the 4-inch guns on the port side for’ard opened and took the pill-box with its first shell. There was a violent explosion and a blinding sheet of flame and both the gun and pill-box erupted as the reserve ammunition went up. When the smoke cleared, there was little left except falling debris and a blackened hole in the ground. The Castle Bay moved on, the huge battle ensigns streaming in the wind raised by her passage. As she came abeam of the buildings, Forbes gave the next firing order. All the port side guns opened in a fury of smoke and flame. The din was tremendous as the shells burst on the concrete domes. Rock flew about as some of the projectiles hit the mountain behind and above the buildings. There was no sign of life now: the whole garrison had taken cover and were simply sitting it out. Moving past, Forbes brought the ship round and back again, this time opening with the starboard armament. The din, the smoke and the flame were repeated; but still the concrete held. Forbes’ high hopes began to dim: his guns were simply not of large enough calibre. Beddows remarked as much.
Under Orders (A Donald Cameron Naval Thriller) Page 12